The Ecphonesis O

O Me! O Life!

By Walt Whitman


O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.


**********




The poem "Oh Me! Oh Life!" was published in 1855 and part of a volume of poetry called Leaves of Grass. Click here for a copy of Leaves of Grass I fell in love with it after I saw “Dead Poet’s Society” the movie starring the brilliant Robin Williams (RIP).


Click here to see Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society


This is my favorite poem. Of the thousands and thousands of pieces of poetry that contend to be #1 on my list, this is it.

Poetry is special because the combination of theme, rhythm and word choice can elevate emotion like music. In fact, poetry should be read in silence to really feel what it’s trying to say. Every single time I read "O Me! O Life!" I am lifted. I feel better. It’s a like an old friend that hugs you and says “everything is going to be okay. You matter. You are enough.”

In the beginning it sounds like a poem of lament, or grieving, maybe self-pity. In the first line he summarizes his conflict: What is the purpose of my life (O me!), if life is so hard (O life!)? He comments about the “endless trains of the faithless” and “cities filled with the foolish” and then he humbly notes that he is the most foolish and faithless of them all and he is “forever reproaching” himself. I do that. So by beginning with a question, he makes an unusual choice by providing the answer to his questions:


Answer: (he gets the answer from himself)

That the powerful play goes on (choose life, powerful life)

And you may contribute a verse (everybody gets to equally contribute something, anything – a verse suggests something different from everyone else – if we were the same he would have said chorus)

What I love about the ending is that instead of wallowing in self-pity by leaving the question open and out there unanswered, he is strong enough (don’t we always have just a little juice in us to keep going?) to know the answer but there is no condescension about it. He pushes that universal button of empathy for life’s difficulties and his humility opens the door to us. He manifests his belief that life is powerful, but he doesn't offer a quick fix to humanities problems he intimates that we (everyone one of us) are contributing to society just by being alive…each one of us in a unique way.


But that’s not even half of the emotion it contains.

The tone of Walt Whitman’s famous poem starts with the very first word, which is in fact just a single vowel: O. This kind of O, the kind without the “h” attached to it, is special. You see it in the scriptures, in Greek theatrical texts, in Shakespeare too. We hardly ever think about its meaning because it’s just a single letter. But it’s so much more than just an O. It has been given the formal name “Ecphonesis O” by modern linguists. Sometimes it’s called the rhetorical O.

Ec-phonesis is Greek, and means “to cry out.” It’s derived from “exclameo,” to cry out. “Ecphonesis is a pathetical figure, whereby as the Orator or speaker expresses the vehement affection and passion of his own mind, so he also excites and stirs up the minds and affections of those to whom he speaks.” (JG Smith)

In Milton’s Paradise Lost the character of Eve, being told that she must leave her paradise, cries out, "O unexpected stroke! Worse than of death.”

This O elevates the emotion automatically! But why the heck is it missing its H?

Because I teach and study in Shakespeare’s world, when I coach our high school kids this is what I tell them when they ask the question “why doesn’t it have an H if you still pronounce it Oooooo?”

Well you really don’t pronounce it “o.” Early authors used the single O as a placeholder for emotional exclamations like “GRRRRR!” or “sighhhhh,” or “#!%*!” The Ecphonesis O is only used when the emotion is so high that there aren’t words for how troubled, or angry or happy a person is. Now days we might substitute the O with a piece of music and call it musical theatre. But Milton, Shakespeare, Sophocles and the authors of the bible didn’t write musicals. They couldn’t spell that moment in time when your body is wracked with torment and you expel a guttural “YAWP” as Walt Whitman would say:


The Song of Myself by Walt Whitman


The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains
          of my gab and my loitering
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
          I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.


Ever wondered why you never see movie or stage characters blowing their nose or going to the bathroom? We recreate life on stage or in a book for entertainment or education. We don’t watch a play about someone brushing their teeth or tying their shoes. There is no conflict in that. We don’t learn anything from it. It isn’t COMPELLING. However…add the Ecphonesis O to a script where Ruby the 8th grader goes to brush her teeth and she lets out a deep throaty “OOOOooooo” there’s something to that. She looks down and all her teeth are in the sink. WHAT IS HAPPENING? Now that's dramatic. That needs an O.

See, storytelling is only interesting when compelling things occur. So the Ecphonesis O is very useful for a playwright to give the actor/reader a clue about the grand emotion that is happening. There are upwards of 2400 Ecphonesis O’s in the Shakespeare canon alone.

Here’s a few good ones:

O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo!
O what a rogue in peasant slave am I…
O no! It is an ever fixed mark…
O you beast! O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!
O reason not the need!
O let me be not mad, not mad sweet heaven!
O brave new world that hath such people in it!
O, O, O, I have lost my reputation!

The O didn't die with Shakespeare and Whitman. We've all used it at points in our life. There were a couple of times in my life when I tested the magnitude of the Ecphonesis O. One real doozy come to mind. I was living in the basement of my parent’s home trying to save money to buy my own home and I got a letter from one of my student’s parents rebuking me for not casting her daughter in a play. Her daughter was a loud, angry and negative soul. I think she reveled in creating drama backstage and I just couldn't face another show adding “put out [this girl’s] fires” to my to-do list again.

So I didn’t cast her.

I think that’s what parents don’t understand. They think by not signing their name to a steaming, stinky letter like that they are saving their child from some kind of retribution or retaliation from a teacher that can cast their children in plays. What they don’t know is that we need the system to function and I save myself a lot of trouble by not casting your kid. It’s never about you. I don’t care what you say. I know what I know.

Anyway... I digress. That's another blog for another time.

I was working late hours trying to put up the show, give kids an opportunity, seemingly by myself, and I was exhausted to say the least. In the middle of the night, I walked through the dark school up to the faculty room to buy a Diet Coke to keep myself awake. I grabbed my mail from my box and sat down on a comfortable chair and started going through it while I drank my precious Diet Coke. There was the letter. It was addressed to me but no return address, and no signature, though from its contents I knew exactly who it was. In a nutshell it said I was emotionally abusive and didn't know how to handle kids because I wasn't a mother myself. She called me “useless” because I was “free-loading” off my parents by living with them. (Everybody knows everything in a small town I guess.) She punched and kicked and stabbed. When I had finished digesting the letter I let out a cry that certainly defined the Ecphonesis O. It wasn't because the letter hurt me. It was because I suspected the letter was true. I was at that point in my life where I suspected I was useless except as a machine to showcase other people’s kids. And since I had chosen not to showcase her daughter this time, she had chosen to stab at my insecurities as an older, single, childless, Mormon woman with no prospects in sight to complete her version of who I should be. (You can only cut so close to the bone if you are also Mormon, which she was.)

I sat in that chair for a good hour, spilling Ecphonesis O after Ecphonesis O in heaps all over the floor. Crying out "...The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?" It was the kind of crying that makes your eyes pop out. It turns your face into a swollen flat surface. It gives you a migraine. It's wet and slobbery and you don't care. It makes you bend in half toward yourself, hug your knees, wipe snot on your pants because you might be the only one that can offer comfort in that moment. It makes you heave and gulp for air and whimper, all at the same time.

In the midst of it all, I started praying. I prayed that I could find out who I was and why I was truly alive. What purpose did He have for me and if this was it – just being the machine – I wanted o.u.t. I cried until I was finally able to ask Him to help me stop crying. I felt the Spirit wrap its arms around me and I fell asleep.

Around 5 AM I was awaken by the sound of custodial keys in the door. I bolted upright and looked at the clock. I sat there for a minute in a fog as the custodian laughed. I tried to remember why I was there and then I saw the letter – still clutched in my hand and it all came back to me. I laughed it off with “boy, that was a comfortable chair!” or something lame like that, and went home to shower so I could come back and do it all again. My eyes were two tiny puffy slits but I was emboldened with the kind of motivation that makes you write letters of resignation, which I did, and never submitted. I needed someone to notice me. I needed change. I needed my absence to count. I needed to be enough. Something.

My parents, long accustomed to me spending the night at the school, were still in bed when I got home. No one would know I had been gone all night. No one would care. No one would even raise an eyebrow… except the laughing custodian.

It is in times like these I am tempted to go on auto-pilot and tell myself that even my least passionate work, just my instinctual work, is still good enough. And then the guilt of working halfheartedly adds to the building disgust I have for myself. I create a fantasy world where I have 3 kids and a mini-van. Where people say “you’re kids are gorgeous!” or “your kids are so well behaved.” I crave teaching my own children how to walk, ride a bike, sew, bake… (grass is always greener). But the only thing I could really do to take my mind off of it, to fill the time, was disappear into a dark movie theatre by myself where I didn't have to talk to anyone and someone else could entertain me. (Ironic that I ended up teaching film.) Silly me, those moments only made me feel more sorry for myself. 

You can imagine that the other Ecphonesis O's in my life are not surprising and involve the years of bitterness, loneliness, finally getting married and then subsequent miscarriages and burying a baby. Those are obvious. But most of those O's were filled with hope, faith and a knowledge that those blessings will be restored if I am faithful and endure my trials. Some of those O's were bitter, but not for long. They taught me so much. They actually increased my faith and gave me strength, depth and empathy for others. Is that it? Is that it's function? I might be on to something.

My favorite Ecphonesis O is taken from the New Testament. The teacher in me appreciates what the O does to elevate emotion, but the human in me, the person that has utilized the Ecphonesis O a few time in my life as I have spoken in desperation, grief or gratitude to my Heavenly Father makes this particular "yawp," this cry, so significant to me.

At the close of Jesus’ public ministry, He found himself at the top of a hill overlooking Jerusalem, the Holy City, lamenting. The children of Israel had rejected Him and the safety He brought to them. As He looked out over the soon to be destroyed city, He was overcome with emotion and expressed His anguish:

          “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!”

Just a few years later, the city was obliterated by the Romans, fulfilling the prophesy. Imagine being able to see that in the future and not able to prevent it because of the hardness of the hearts of your people. Jesus Christ knew the Ecphonesis O. He probably invented it; for "Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted." They who saw Him suffer, instead of seeing the sacrifice in it, imagined that He was suffering at God's hands. In His greatest agonies, they scoffed at His alleged parentage, yet in His death He would save them all.

I often wonder who the atheists turn to in the depths of an Ecphonesis O moment? What Omnipotent power comforts them in their darkest moments? To whom are they grateful? I'm ignorant here and I admit it. Who sustains them, makes them powerful? Maybe that's the big idea here. The trials that bring on the Ecphonesis O are a necessary evil. They brings us to our knees, they reminds us who we are and that we are not alone. We are simply building an unbreakable connection and life line to the endless power from whence we came.

Let the mighty trials and tribulations roll forth...BRING IT! Though I will probably always feel "foolish...faithless...intertwined in the plodding and sordid crowds" its my verse.

And I'm enough.

In the Guise of Sacrifice

Me and Sister Ratana, my first companion. I love her so much!
She was very patient. They called us the "monster and the mouse."

I read a post on Facebook the other day that disturbed me. It was a man responding to a post about the how he felt the LDS church stunts the growth of its youth by making them go on missions. He said "...in the guise of sacrifice...they stall their education, careers and lives by serving God when really they are just proselyting for more members to fill the churches coffers."

Helping a member deep fry grasshoppers and sell them. We
thought if the Americans helped her, she would sell more.
She did. Never refuse a bit a service, even if it includes a
morning or pulling the wings off insects.

I served a full-time mission from 1984-1986. No one MADE me do it. Contrary to this man's belief the church does not make anyone go on a mission. I never thought I would go. I thought by the time I was 21 or 22 I would be married. Most of my friends were. I was a junior at Southern Utah University at the time and I was just sick of school. At the same time I didn't want to stop my life by dropping out of school to work for minimum wage but I had been in school since I was 5 and I was burned out. I also needed some time to reevaluate my major. I decided that a mission might give me some time to refocus and it might divert my attention away from ME for a while. I also looked at it as a way to keep learning but NOT in a classroom.

It worked out well for me.

I submitted my application to serve and just one week later I received news that I would be serving in Bangkok, Thailand.
I did not choose to go to Thailand. I firmly believe that it was the place God chose for me to serve with my skill set. I was given a "language aptitude" test at the time (which they no longer do) and I guess I passed that with flying colors because learning Thai was like walking a tightrope in heels. I wanted to go somewhere Spanish speaking. I already spoke a lot of Spanish and I thought it would be cheaper for my parents to send me to a Spanish speaking country. Nowadays all missionaries pay the same each month, but in my day, you paid based on the cost of living in that area or country. My brother was serving in New York and my parents were already paying a fortune to keep him out. I needed to go to a mission that was next to free. No such luck. See, if you didn't know, missionaries aren't paid for their service - they or their families PAY for the opportunity.

In Thailand, I ate rice three times a day and killed cockroaches the length of your palm. I served as diligently as a person can who serves in the land of the Golden Buddha. I obeyed my mission rules and kept busy. I wrecked three bicycles while I was there, twice by my own stupidity and once I was hit by a motorcycle and thrown into a sewage canal. He didn't stop to help me out. I had a few hospital stays with dysentery and passed my first kidney stone while I was in Thailand. But it was the greatest adventure of my life.

Eventually, I learned to speak Thai. I don't think I ever learned to speak it like a native, but there was a day, about 5 or 6 months in, that I knew I was reaching people with my Thai. I had so many blessing in learning that beast of a language.

I was living with my "companion" (another missionary serving in my area - my roommate and

Leaving Chiang Mai. I served in that incredible city for
6 months. I was so lucky. Amazing missionaries - all.

working partner) in Chiang Mai, Thailand way up North in the country when one morning, before I had a chance to put my tag on, the doorbell rang. Standing on our porch were two women that looked an awful lot like Mormon missionaries, but I didn't know them. One was a young Thai native and the other was an older German woman. They were wearing skirts, white shirts and name tags just like us...but not, somehow. The older German woman asked me if I was American and I said yes. Her English wasn't great, but her Thai was worse, so we went with English. I asked the Thai girl if she spoke English and she didn't. So we settled on Thai. The Thai girl's eyes got big and she said "are you from Thailand?" and I said "No. I'm from the United States. I've been here about 5 months." I explained that I was always asked if I was Thai or part-Thai because my black eyes and dark hair are very Thai. I noticed that she really took that in. She was looking at me as if I was some kind of freak. She said "your Thai is very good..." with a kind of question mark? "Are you CIA?" I did not understand that word see-aye-ehhhhh. I need to write that down for later, I thought. I said I was sorry I didn't know what see-aye-ehhhh was in phasaathay
(the Thai language). She explained "you know, cops shoot-em-up bad guys FBI." She has her finger stuck out in a gun position. "OH! CIA! THAT CIA. Hahaha! No sorry. We are missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints." WHAT A LET DOWN! You have me confused with some 007 type that could crush you with her index finger. I pump a bicycle 40 miles a day. I have the thighs of a good kickboxer but that's about all. (I didn't say that last part.)

They were Jehovah's Witnesses I found out. Having never run into any people from this religion, I was fascinated that I had to come all the way to Thailand to meet the "JDubs" as I had heard them called. (I hope that nickname isn't offensive. I don't mean it to be.) We exchanged pleasantries and they asked me to buy their pamphlets, which I was happy to do. I went back into my room to find some change and gathered about 15 of the LDS pamphlets and handed them to German woman with the 50 baht that I owed for her pamphlets. The German woman said "Oh no, we can't afford your pamphlets, we are only volunteers," to which I replied "me too! But go ahead, they're free."

No caption needed.

It's very rare to meet other Christians in Thailand and I was smitten immediately and asked them to come back when we could sit down and talk. I thought that would be fun. (Ah youth is wasted on the stupid.) About a week later, the young Thai woman did return. But she was alone. We learned her name was Lai. We invited her in and she listened to me talk about the Mormons for a long time. At first I thought she just wanted to make sure we were real. But after a while, she relaxed and stopped asking me why I could speak Thai after only having been in the country 6 months. It was like a magic trick to her. It was the perfect opportunity to tell her about the Gifts of the Spirit. I explained that I had been given a blessing before I left for Thailand and another one just a few months later when I became a Senior companion that I would be blessed with the "gift of tongues." We read some scriptures that talked about it. I knew the power of that gift! It was as if someone had dumped a Thai dictionary into my head. I spoke without a problem. I understood what people were saying to me and anyone that knew how easily it came to me, was truly shocked. Did I study? Of course I did. Like I was on fire. But if I studied a certain group of vocabulary words that day, I noticed that I would "just happen" to hear those same words used in common conversation. I would connect them to their context and in this way, my inner vocabulary exploded daily.

This must have been early on because I was still wearing shoes.

I also noticed that when I got home from Thailand and went back to school to study theatre, I would merely have to pass over a script once or twice at the most and it was memorized. My mind had been expanded somehow. I was shocked at how my study habits had been clarified too. My college transcripts testify of a girl that struggled to get mediocre grades before her mission and then returned to sail through school afterward. It was so much easier. I had really learned to focus but more importantly, I had learned how to listen.

I left Chiang Mai shortly after we started teaching Lai. Not sure if she was ever baptized but I know she was lead to our door so we could introduce her to the Mormons.

I thought I would give Mr. Negative on Facebook a little list of the things I learned while I was

Rod Hinck as Santa. He had the suit made, then we stayed
up all night and made bags of popcorn and delivered them to
the polio wards and orphanages on Christmas day. Best
Christmas e.v.e.r.

"putting off my education." This "sacrifice" he calls it might be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard and I'm sorry if he's reading this...because he might...but he needs to know how goofy he sounds to the thousands and thousands of us that have taken the incredible opportunity to serve a mission for our church.

Things I learned on my mission that I had not previously learned while in college:

ABOUT THE WORLD

• I learned about several other beautiful world religions
• I learned that it can rain so hard your skin crinkles up under your clothes
• I learned that being fat is good everywhere but in the United States
• I learned that everything can be eaten. Everything.
• Women can have babies next to a rice paddy
• I learned to appreciate world music
• I learned that toilets can also be stood on
• I learned that hospitals do not provide toilet paper
• I learned that there is real hunger in the world
• I learned that in some cultures people give away their children if they are born with disabilities



Polio ward.

• I learned that you don't have to have stuff to be happy

The teachers in the refugee camp. This is the side wall of
one of the classrooms. What an amazing group
of people! They were always happy!

Happy people! I didn't meet a native
Elder that wasn't incredibly happy and
so positive to be around. 

No gears, basket, bell, seat on the back for passengers.

ABOUT COOL THINGS I HAD NEVER DONE OR KNOWN

• I rode and slept on a train many times overnight and I had never done that before. 
• I learned to get up at the crack of dawn everyday at the same time to study and pray
• I learned how to ride a bike in a dress and feel grateful for the transportation
• I learned that if you have a wok, you need no other pan (I have three)
• I learned how to get the best exchange rates for the American dollar
• I learned to drink soda pop from a plastic bag...without ice.
• I learned to wash clothes out on a rock

  

  Try to look happy while you eat
  crickets over rice. Mmmmm. Disgusting.

• I learned to make spring rolls (believe me this is a valuable skill)
• I learned that you can't ride a bicycle immediately after riding an elephant 
• I learned that dysentery can be obtained for 40 cents and how to avoid it
• I learned that there are 400 kinds of bananas (and I ate most of them)
• I learned how to barter for better prices
• I learned to make rice like a PRO!
• I learned how to make khaawniawmamuang (yes - come over)
• I learned how to make somtum and curry and amazing fried rice (yep - its true) 
• I learned a thousand ways to use sweetened condensed milk
• I found out you can survive a national water fight on a bike, wearing a dress
• I learned to de-wing grasshoppers and fry them up in front of the movie house
• I learned that rice is very powerful

Dysentary #1 (or 2). (There are 2 more
dysentary events....heehehe!)

ABOUT PEOPLE and SERVICE

• I learned how to live and get along with another human being that is with you 24/7
• I learned that deodorant is optional in some countries
• I learned how to potty train orphans
• I learned that polio still exists
• I learned humility for myself and patience for all people
• I learned that you must love even the people that are hard to love (the guard at the camp)

The greatest learning experience of my mission service was the time I spent as an English teacher in the Phanat Nikhom Transit Camp for Vietnamese and Cambodian Refugees. Those people had fled the oppressive governments of the North Vietnamese and Pol Pots ethnic cleansing regime. The Killing Fields. Remember that movie? Those were my students.

They were doctors and lawyers, students and moms. They got in big and little boats and crossed the Gulf of Thailand with nothing but their birth certificates and marriage licenses. Some of them walked into Thailand for refuge, carefully avoiding (or not) mine fields and open fighting. They were assigned to a series of United Nations refugee camps along the Laos and Vietnamese border. Once their paperwork was in order, they would come to our camp to await acceptance from another country - we were the "transit" camp. At our camp they learned to speak English from the Sisters of the Mormon church through the churches Welfare Services Unit for Refugees in Thailand. WSURT. I was one of four or five sister missionary teachers that continually served in that unit. I was there seven months. I was so blessed by this experience.

ABOUT BEING BRAVE and STRONG

• I learned how to love every kind of pepper that can be grown and I lost most of my taste buds in Thailand
• I learned to look out for snakes in the grass literally and figuratively
• I learned how to ride a bike with no gears while carrying an easel, a film projector and a bag of books
• I learned how to fix a flat tire in the middle of nowhere
• I learned how to deworm refugee children
• I learned not to climb into a house that was on stilts (if the family still wanted to keep their house) Consequently I learned how to teach a gospel discussion in mud up to my knees
• I learned to eat fruits that smell like stinky feet
• I learned to eat all kinds of things I didn't know could be eaten...and then say "thank you!" (See dysentery above)

This pic should be flipped. "Quinn" was headed to Toronto.
I think. I wish with all my heart I was still in touch with
all my friends from the camp. They are literally all
over the world now, resettled in different countries. 

ABOUT MY FUTURE

• I LEARNED HOW TO TEACH! (I did NOT learn this in college.)

ABOUT LIFE and ME

• I learned rejection and how to crawl back from it
• I learned true joy and how to reach for it
• I learned how to study
• I learned how to use a day planner
• I learned how to write a letter and use a real post office
• I became a better pianist (because I had to)
• I learned get up from the floor with both legs completely asleep and pretend everything was fine
• I learned to speak another language fluently (for my survival) 
• I learned why organized religion is so crucial to the world
• I learned how lucky I am to be alive and healthy
• I learned that freedom is not free

  

  My class at the camp. Knees to back. Sitting on the hard
  cement. No desks, no complaints!

• I learned that its not what you get out of life, its what you put into it that's important
• I found out that what I believe is true
• I set a path for the rest of my life based on opportunities I was exposed to while on my mission
• I learned that there was so much more to learn - I now crave education
• I found out that Jesus Christ has saved the world and me - literally, not figuratively
• I found God
• I learned to love someone else besides myself and consequently...
• I found ME

And after I learned all that I was only 23 years old. I spent the next two years in college, and the next 26 years in a classroom - working and putting money into a pension that won't be enough and a social security system that looks iffy. Believe me, if I had it to do all over again, would I skip the mission

This is the Southeast Asia version of "knocking on doors"
This is a street board sign. It's meant to attract interested
people and give away books. If I had a nickel for every
hour I stood at a street board...

and rush into the work force at 21? GAH! NOOOOOOOOO! I wish I could have served for years and years. Living simply on meager means (missions cost approximately $450 a month), driven by the love of God, doing good continually because you can, studying scriptures and good books because you have time, making eternal friendships all over the world and feeding your brain at the same time?!?!?! Why wouldn't you take that opportunity?

So Mr. Negative, you said we serve "...in the guise of sacrifice..." and I say - if that's sacrifice then I want to keep doing it all my life. Initially, I went into the mission field to pay God back for what I owed him and all it did was make me more indebted. I can't wait to serve another mission with my husband; we are already saving for it. 

Dried squid anyone?

You also said, "they stall their education, careers and lives by serving God..." Education doesn't only happen in a classroom! In fact, most of it doesn't! Serving God?! Could you work for a better boss? When can a person learn another language fluently without spending time in the country? When can a person test their brain, their courage, their instincts and everything their parents taught them all at the same time over and over again for two years?

Finally you said "... when really they are just proselyting for more members to fill the churches coffers." O! if you only knew how many people in the world are sustained by the "coffers" of the church and don't fill it at all. If I could tell you what a blessing it is for me to give 10 measly percent of what I earn, back from whence it came...well that's another blog for another time. But if you are really in need of some blessings, give 10 percent of what you earn to a charity each month. You will be shocked at the kind of person you will become and the windows of heaven will open to you. I challenge you to try it. Karma may be a b@!*ch - but it goes the other way too.

Halfway through my mission I was transferred to work in a refugee camp teaching English instead of the proselyting the gospel. I've already talked about my time in the refugee camp. There are Worse Things than Miscarriages LINK  Next to holding my tiny son before he died, it was the most precious time of my life.

Residences in the United Nations refugee camp in Thailand

I will never forget how it felt to share my language (we were not allowed to proselyte) with those amazing Vietnamese, Laosian and Cambodian people while they waited to be accepted to another country. I felt the magnitude and miracle of the scripture in Jeremiah 3:14 "I will take you one of a city and two of a family and will bring you to Zion." I can't explain it, but every teenager should have to serve in a refugee camp in their lifetime just to learn the true meaning of gratitude. We are so blessed in these United States! We must remember the people that founded, fought and fight for what we have here. It is not an exaggeration to say that we are blessed beyond measure.

The classroom at the refugee camp

Every single day I walk into my classroom with its carpet, desks, endless whiteboards, video projector, computers (I have 34!), printer, podium, bulletin boards, etc.... I remember teaching English to 90 Vietnamese students at a time. They sat on banana mats if they had one, and if they didn't they pulled up a piece of the hard concrete floor. There was one whiteboard at the end of the "classroom" which was surrounded by woven bamboo mats with big holes in them for "air conditioning." They listened as if their life depended on it. Because it did. My student today only listen if I say the words "extra credit," or when the bell rings. Everybody hears that.

A "kitchen" in the refugee camp. Isn't she gorgeous?!

In the refugee camp we were able to teach the refugees about the customs and traditions that they would also have to go through in their new countries. We did an Easter egg hunt, a Halloween party, a Thanksgiving dinner complete with chicken, purple Thai yams and rice flour bread dressing (thanks to the cook at the American Embassy for letting us have a bottle of thyme and sage.) Everyone thought the idea of seasoned wet bread was terrible and I only have two things to say to that: "fish heads and chicken feet." So there. I learned to appreciate my traditions and my culture by learning and living theirs.

The constant thriving learning environment turned me into a teacher. It was because of that experience in the camp that I solidified my journey to become a certified teacher when I got back. It was because of that experience that I was able to focus so easily and stay on track when I returned from Thailand.

It is because of that experience that I cried like a baby when I heard the announcement about an LDS

Boot. She was a college student that we taught for a long
time. This was such a happy day! That's the Chiang Mai
branch president in the background (1986)

Temple being built in Thailand. There was not a conference that went by that I didn't pray like a crazy woman for a temple announcement and in April  - we got it! I've been praying for that event since 1986. I know it is because of the good members of the church in Thailand that they are finally going to get their own temple. I have seen on Facebook the burgeoning church meetings and heard from the missionaries that the church is rolling forth in Thailand just as the mission dedicatory prayer predicted it would.

We called this dog "Nuke." He hung around our house
(because I fed him). Yes, it's a dog.

I wasn't afraid to serve. I wasn't afraid of the people or the culture or even the food - though seeing a rack full of drying snakes makes you a little queasy at first. I wanted to see the world and selfishly, I was glad that I got called to see part of the world, this school teacher would never get to see (and has never been able to afford to go back). But in the end, I learned that its not where you go, because all of those things on my list can be learned in Idaho or Indonesia... but the greatest thing of all is that the Mormons have the truth about God and Jesus Christ and I learned that. We have the whole truth, we really do. Despite crazy stories about the church that may turn you against it, or incidences of offending remarks or actions made against you that made you leave  - it is true. I'm not even hoping for the truth - I know it. It's a sure foundation for me. It grounds me. It keeps me focused. This mission gave me the foundation that I have needed just to get through my crazy life. And contrary to what they say - life is not short - it's tricky and it comes one day at a time. We need all the help and knowledge we can get.

Planting and watering for a future harvest...

I'm proud to say that I was one of those missionaries that planted a lot of seeds back in the 80's and now I have the blessing of looking back to see the harvest. It's wild! A temple in Thailand! Who'da thought?! Can't wait to be there for the dedication!

Hmong siblings at the camp, always
taking care of each other.

My favorite service project! Every Wednesday we got to
go out and help with the babies at a huge orphanage in Udorn!

Durian. Elder Anun. I loved that guy!
He would eat anything!

Feeding babies...so many babies.

Leaving Udorn!

Udorn! I loved this branch! Incredible members. They even
had a keyboard. What is my hair? 1987.

Never underestimate the power of rice
in a refugee camp.

Phanat Nikhom across from our house. Rice fields everywhere.

NEWSFLASH!

Let me first begin by excusing my husband from anything I am writing. These are not his opinions or thoughts, they are mine. It's my blog and I don't let him near it. He has taken a beating over his choice for the Spring play at our school, by a group of ultraconservative women in the community that do not have children in his Spring play "Almost Maine." One of the women's son was cast in the play, but when she found out that he had to kiss a girl in his scene, she pulled him out. Her compatriot went further and decided to raise an army on Facebook. One of the posts in the thread actually said "I'm secretly hoping he changes the play." Wow. Secrecy means something entirely different to me. 

But this isn't about me in any way, nor is it really my business; I'm not even able to respond to the thread because this Facebooker isn't on my list of friends (nor will she ever be) but I'm just shocked that this mentality still exists among the women of the world. I always expect more from women I guess. ;-) And if I need to keep waving the flag of tolerance I will do it until my arms fall off. I'm a teacher, it's what I do. I PRAY with all my heart that this blog reaches the people that need to read it. If you know someone that needs to read it, please send it on! Otherwise, I'm just writing so I can sleep at night...and that's okay too. 

Frankly, the whole things makes me weary. Considering the amount of CRAP that is out there in libraries full of ugly theatre literature, Almost Maine is one of the tamest, loveliest, funniest plays available. It's a humorous look at love and relationships. It contains little if any swears, no violence, no sex at all, not an ounce of nudity and by all accounts, it would probably be rated PG in the movies theatres for mild innuendo. Its very funny and it will make you say "ahhhhhh!" and drop a tear or two. This is why it has become the NUMBER ONE produced play in high schools around the nation. (Educational Theatre Association Survey)

But it's the same old story. It seems that no matter where you go, someone has appointed themselves the town's morality police and they expect you to conform or they will take it personally. But Les Mis, sells out in minutes around here. (MIND BOGGLING)

I'm still driving the bandwagon of tolerance I guess. Education will always make us a more tolerant people. Tolerance will increase civility and civility will increase love. It always comes back to love, doesn't it? We should do a play about love....oh...wait....

***************

Blood everywhere. Brain matter on the windshield. A small stray arm lay in the middle of the road still clutching My Little Pony. A car, folded up like an accordion spitting glass, steam and blood, is being pulled off the road. 30 teenagers scream and groan as they watch the firemen crack open an upside down truck to release the once drunk driver...who is not recognizable as a human anymore.
The teacher stands at the back of the classroom smiling wryly. He thinks this does the trick. He hopes the picture of this horrific accident will be tattooed in their brains every time they pick up a drink and then try to drive. 1981. Drivers education class. The best police training tapes they could get on reel to reel. I remember that we couldn't wait for that week in the semester when we got to see the notorious scare tactic films.

Scare tactics are powerful.

They're meant to sear a memory on you brain that pops up at opportune times in your life when you need to remember the consequences of bad behavior BEFORE you commit to it yourself.

We use scare tactics all the time. Adults do it to kids on a daily basis. It masks itself as education, or wisdom or good sound advice. The gorier the better. The more dramatic the consequences the better. Our aim is usually not to scare kids but to keep them safe. Once my 5 year old niece got lost at Disneyland and we couldn't find her for ten minutes. When my sister finally found her looking through the fence and clapping at the teacups the new mom cried out (in a panic of course): "do you want some stranger to steal you away from us and cut you into chunks and throw you in the river?! Is that what you want?!" Of course not. We all laughed but our hearts rates didn't slow down for a few hours.

My scare tactics usually begin with, "...where is your homework...why didn't you do your homework...why are you late? And then the punch to the gut: Are you willfully choosing to work for minimum wage the rest of your life? Or you could use Andy's favorite, "I hope you like playing Nintendo in your parents basement forever."

There's even a reality TV show called "Scare Tactics." My favorite is the one that takes kids that are on the edge of prison into a locked down facility to see what it's like and hear it first hand from the prisoners themselves. It's called "Scared Straight." If that doesn't scare a kid into shaping up I don't know what will.

However, we assume if we tell them not to drink and drive that they won't. We assume that if the health teacher shows them a video of a woman having a baby, or that vile STD PowerPoint, that they won't have unprotected sex. Uh, huh. We want to believe that they perceive jail as an undesirable place to live...but it might just be better and safer than where they live now. Or they might just want to avoid the constant stream of advice they're getting. If they think the rules are tough at home or in the classroom...ha!

Unfortunately, most kids either choose to learn the hard way, or choose to learn it for themselves because they lack trust or they just wanna have "fun." (I'm speaking of course, about my own childhood. I never landed in jail, but there was that time we went swimming out at Saratoga in the middle of the night and just barely managed to escape the police after the alarms went off...that scared me straight enough. I ran so fast I was almost dry by the time my friends caught up with me.)

What is the punishment for chaining your kid to the bed or locking them in the attic until they are 25? I'm sure that's literally against the law, but figuratively we do it all the time. At what point do you "teach them the way they should go" and then l.e.t. t.h.e.m. g.o.?

Andy and I have made an annual pilgrimage to the National Theatre Festival and a bi-annual trek out to New York to see the new plays and musicals. We consider it research for work, because believe it or not, I don't enjoy the theatre that much. My greatest joy is in seeing kids grow in ways that only the theatre can teach. We want to make sure that we are choosing shows that stretch kids for a maximum educational opportunity. We want to get them hooked so they choose that as their drug of choice. Truthfully, we're just underpaid drug dealers at heart.

What has got me riled up this week is a Facebook post that I described above. In the thread several women post their opinions and I'm all for that. God forbid we ever lose the freedom to say how we feel. Well, this is how I feel. I have copied several portions of the thread and pasted them here in case you missed it.

(The green print is what I have quoted from the thread on Facebook:)

Post Writer: The [        ] High School play this Spring is "Almost, Maine." It's a series of vignettes about falling in love including this one. Do you think this is appropriate for our high school and for our community. I don't but the director does. What are your thoughts?

(At this point in her post, the writer inserts a YouTube video of another high school's production in doing a scene from the play Almost Maine by John Cariani. This is the scene between two best friends that find out they would rather spend time with each other than anyone else. Yes, these are two boys, and yes, the innuendo is there in a humorous way, but could be taken in a myriad of ways.)

Post by High School Student: Andy (our director) edited it and it's another boy-girl scene now. He changed it because he knew this would be the reaction in this community.

Post Writer: It's a controversial topic and I appreciate your opinions. Thanks for your update, [High School Student]. Any other thoughts? Do you think this play would help or hurt? (emphasis added).

Help or hurt.

HELP OR HURT? 

HELP OR HURT?!?!?!?

Let the flood gates open...a.g.a.i.n.

(I quote the thread again - and all it's syntax errors)

I see this play as "not a good fit for our community" for several reasons.

Okay I already have to stop. WHO SPEAKS FOR AN ENTIRE TOWN? Is she the mayor? Is she protesting a nuclear waste dump next to an elementary school? I was so hopeful that our new town was filled with the kind of diversity that helps everyone learn to love each other. Still there are some ultraconservatives out there that continue to "piously wave their self-made rules above all our heads." There's no escaping them. HOLY HERRIMAN! This Facebook thread makes me feel afraid that if I express my political stance, I will get a shunning. Dang it. I REALLY LIKE THIS TOWN! (I know they aren't all like her. In fact, when I directed several local people to the thread, they assured me that she is the micro-minority as I suspected.)

I have already digressed. Let's keep going...

I see this play as "not a good fit for our community" for several reasons.

One - I agree with [ ] and others that this is too mature for 15 and 16 yr olds to be performing. She did a great job explaining why so I won't say anything more.

I have to stop again because you should know that she is basing her opinions on another director's production that was posted on YouTube. Not my husband's choices for his kids. She is assuming that we are all bound to "color" the page with the same 8 crayons. Yes - we don't cut the script down without permission, BUT, just so you know... 

NEWSFLASH #1

THE STAGE DIRECTIONS ARE OPTIONAL – THE TEXT IS NOT

Stage directions are most likely written by a stage manager and I am not obligated to use them for my production. I am only obligated to use the text as written. So when I read the thread on Facebook about how disgustingly inappropriate the play is for high school students, the author of the post quoted one particular scene to give her argument credibility. In this scene, the characters systematically take off their clothes. Inappropriate on stage for high school kids? YES! Of course yes. But because it’s in the stage direction, Andy will just ignore it or tone it down with his kids and take it in a different direction. He will use the same text – but a different context. We directors have a thousand choices. I am not obligated to use the choices that the first director used. It’s just there as a record of what the first cast did. So saying that a play is inappropriate based of the stage direction is a claim made by ignorant readers.

We high school teachers have to be really creative sometimes…but we are. For example, I hate the ending of Grease - where Sandy dons the leather pants and "comes down" to Danny's social level to get her man. So instead of changing the text, I simply had Danny wear a goofy plaid shirt and letter sweater. No need for the text change - the costume choice changed the tone. (and we made $20,000 which allowed us to go to Scotland).

Her post continues... TAKE A DEEP BREATH BEFORE YOU READ THIS:

Two - I'm concerned that homosexuality is becoming a trend in our plays. "The drowsy chaperone" had references to it and now this play. I'm not okay with this. Even though the homosexuality is edited out it is opening the door through familiarity to make it easier to include it in future works. There are thousands of plays to choose from. Couldn't we have something more edifying and fitting with our values? Three - by purchasing this play our community has put a stamp of approval on the national movement to accept homosexuality and gay marriage. It doesn't matter that it was edited out. No outsider will know that. However, they will be able to use our town as a statistic showing that even the small towns in conservative Utah are teaching their kids that homosexuality is an acceptable lifestyle choice. Other towns may look at us and think "Well if it was okay for conservative [name of town] It would be okay for us." It is one thing to have a group of judges force the state's hand to accept gay marriage. It is quite another to actively choose (or condone through our silence) to have our children acting out a play known to support homosexuality.

I don't even know where to start here. Maybe I could just go dig her a hole in the sand that she can put her head into until this whole "homosexual thing" blows over. I know a bunch of homosexuals, maybe we should tell them - ON AN INTERNATIONAL SOCIAL MEDIA SITE - that we hate them and they aren't welcome in our town. ....BLUSTERING-HEAD-SHAKING-RASPBERRIES-OF DISBELIEF!!

I C.A.N.T.E.V.E.N!


NEWSFLASH #2
You can't catch homosexuality. It's not contagious. There. I've said it. WHEW! I hope she reads this just so she can get that straight before all the gays move into our newly tolerant town and her kids get the disease! She'll sleep better tonight. The problem is, later in the thread the writer says she knows several homosexual men that would rather not be homosexual. Then she says, "homosexuality is a temptation and can be overcome." It was painfully obvious to me (and two of my gay Mormon friends that read the thread) that no one has ever told her the truth. Even the LDS church has backed down from that stance. Didn't she get the memo? Homosexuality IS ONE OF the sexualities. We shouldn't need to "protect" our children from it. That's insane. That in itself bears an inherent judgment already. What if your child was gay? Would you want people to protect themselves against him? I'm sick of even thinking about this anymore. It just saddens me.

NEWSFLASH #3
You are telling the entire world (via Facebook) that you disdain homosexuality and you are speaking for everyone in the town. That's not fair. Think of how you made our gay brothers and sisters feel with your statement. I know you don't think you're doing Satan's work...but OH how you have fallen naively into his trap.

NEWSFLASH #4
Andy is not editing the BFF scene out of the play. We didn't have enough boys audition (as usual) and since he knew this is how you would react, he opted to change the scene to a boy and a girl. None of the text will be cut without permission from the author or his agent. We have to put girls in boys roles all the time, there are so many more of them in this art. (BECAUSE GIRLS ROCK!) AND ALSO, AGAIN - it's about tone.

Okay...back to the post before my eyes pop out of my head.

"when [the writer of the post] asked if this will help or hurt, I think it will hurt at least [our town's} family attendance, because it's not meant in any way for the whole family, younger siblings, it's in my opinion, something you would go to in college, or on adult date, where the context can be understood."

See Newsflash #1.

She goes on to say that Andy "asked my son to kiss a girl in the play."

NEWSFLASH #5

This social contract of auditioning is optional in every land I've ever worked in and unless you tell the teacher in advance what your parameters are, the teacher will assign you to the role she thinks is appropriate for you, kissing or not. Auditions infer that you WANT to be in the play. The director puts you in a role that is right for your child and right for the overall concept of the play. I want you to read the scripts of the plays your children are auditioning for BEFORE you let them audition. Be that involved. Don't be a bully about your particular standards. Teach your children that if the play content does not reflect your standards, then they should simply choose to do something else without piousness (and Facebook). 

Matthew 6: 2 - 6.

Andy had 20 COPIES of the play available for you to check out and read in advance. You have every right to complain about the content of a play BEFORE auditions happen. But unless you bring more than half of the community with you that believe the same thing, don't cover yourself with the "community standard" blanket. There isn't one. Once a play is up and running...back off! Let learning happen. If you go to the play and find out that "OH NO! My child says some swears! Or my child has to kiss someone in his scene, I'm going straight to the media about this," that ship has sailed! It's too late! Your ignorance does not give you the right to complain anymore. Whatever negativity you bring to the experience only punishes the entire cast at that point and the overworked teacher who must now re-cast the role somehow. That's not your right.

NEWSFLASH #6
Kids know so much more than you think. What kills me about this mentality is that they don't want their children to delve into these characters because they might "learn too much." If that's the problem, you better stop sending them to public school. This is THEIR world - not ours anymore. They already know SO MUCH MORE than we do.

NEWSFLASH #7
We are now sending our boys and girls out on missions the second they graduate high school. Then when they get back we are telling them to get married as soon as they can. Where's the scare tactic film for that scenario? Here's the GRAND CONUNDRUM: if you aren't married by 20 in this state, you have failed in your mission to fulfill the measure of your creation. No one ever wants you to take your time finding out who you are or let you develop your agency outside of your parent's umbrella before they are tapping their foot and telling your boyfriend to "fish or cut bait."  (You know that wasn't the version of that cliche I was going to use but Andy said I had to "be nice.") So wouldn't you take an opportunity to let your child learn about relationships in high school under the watchful eye of an adult who is in control of the play (and the amount of kissing) step by step? Oh...right...this Facebooker, doesn't think the play is appropriate for anyone nor should kids be taking on roles as adults. There goes Oklahoma, The Sound of Music, South Pacific, Fiddler on the Roof, Les Mis..... Even in the play You Can’t Take It With You, the house is filled with a family that doesn't work, refuses to pay taxes and the maid's boyfriend spends the night. Its a well known classical fact that Oedipus had children with his mother and in Arsenic and Old Lace two old ladies that KILL people and bury them in their basement.

Years ago I used to direct musicals with junior high aged kids. These were kids ages 12 - 14. They were so awesome. It was, without a doubt, one of the greatest era's of my life. One to the first plays we did was Fiddler on the Roof. We watch sweet Motel and Tzeitel profess their love to each other and then eventually, once Tevye works his magic, they get married. Do you have them kiss at the end of that beautiful wedding scene? Yep. I did. Everybody is waiting for it. It's the denouement of that story line. Sort of like watching the past two seasons of 19 Kids and Counting. But do the drama teachers in UTAH have a 14 year-old kiss another 14 year-old, when most of the young people here are advised not to even date until they are 16? Well, first you should know that might be a possibility if your child auditions because you've read the play or asked the director.

Kissing serves many purposes and NOT ONE of them is to give your child the opportunity to kiss another child. Two characters in the play will kiss each other as a sign of the relationship progressing, or the finale of a wedding ceremony as a generally accepted sign of mutual agreement, or whatever. I won't be parading a bunch of junior high-aged kids through a kissing festival. It's just stupid and awkward anyway unless you control it in rehearsal. I know when enough is enough. However, she doesn't know me. She doesn't know that I'm not going to add gratuitous kissing on stage. I get that. But she didn't ask until AFTER the child had been cast in a role that required kissing and THEN she called Andy. Andy explained all that but still, she pulled her kid out of the show. And she gets to do that because she is the parent. I get it. I just wish she would have let him do something in the show because he is about the sweetest most awesome kid in the world and I love working with him.

I. d.i.g.r.e.s.s!

To the credit of the owner of the thread, she deleted it and replaced it with an apology about a week after it began to roll forth. But it wasn't until there were about 40 opinions posted and lots of offended readers. Obviously, this post started many vehement conversations on both sides and this blog. I was so impressed that there were many that were in favor of respecting the choices of the teacher and principal who have been given the right to choose the material based on their knowledge of the content area and the needs of the kids.

Of course you know what side I am going to take, every time and I am going to side with Brigham Young EVERY SINGLE TIME. I've posted this time and again, but can it be said too much? People were mad at Brigham Young for finishing the playhouse before he finished the temple. In fact, the theatre was the first building to be finished in the state. In response to this he states:

"Upon the stages of a theatre can be represented in character, evil and its consequences, good and its happy result and rewards; the weakness and the follies of man, the magnanimity of virtue and the greatness of truth. The stage can be made to aid the pulpit in impressing upon the minds of a community an enlightened sense of a virtuous life, and also a proper horror of the enormity of sin and a just dread of its consequences. The path of sin with its thorns and pitfalls, its gins and snares can be revealed, and how to shun it." (Discourses of Brigham Young, pg. 243)

Brigham Young wanted the early citizens of Utah to use the theatre as an "aid to the pulpit." Did binge-watching Breaking Bad make me want to do meth? NO! Every meth dealer in the show got his due in the end or ran from it is as scared as I am. I don't even eat blue lifesavers anymore.

And that's the key maybe. What Brother Brigham was saying, essentially, is that the theatre can be used as a scare tactic. Why not? Why is it okay in schools to show the vile STD PowerPoint or the crash videos and not let kids re-enact adult roles "...impressing upon the minds of a community an enlightened sense of a virtuous life and also a proper horror of the enormity of sin ... and how to shun it?"

NEWSFLASH #8
It's 2015. If your kids made it through junior high, they've already seen it all.